


Consolation Prize

by SlimReaper



Series: The Chemicals-verse [6]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Apologies, Cybertron, Fluff, Gen, Presents, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings, iopele
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-26
Updated: 2016-06-26
Packaged: 2018-07-18 08:47:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7308205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlimReaper/pseuds/SlimReaper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>consolation prize<br/>noun<br/>a prize, usually of minor value, given to the loser or runner-up in a contest, competition, etc., or to all losers who have performed well or met certain standards.</p><p>... or, Tailgate has a debt to repay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Consolation Prize

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is for an anonymous reader!

By the time he reached the door of the hab suite he shared with Tailgate, Cyclonus’ worry had grown to the point that it was difficult to conceal it. The minibot had been acting strangely for days now, even though the wave of heats that had swept through the _Lost Light_ had finally begun to ease--uncharacteristically secretive and nervous, and seemingly loathe to be in the same room as Cyclonus.

If he hadn’t seen Tailgate receive a dose of heat prophylaxis himself, he’d have wondered if the minibot was entering his own cycle. It was the only thing he could think of that would make him so uncomfortable in Cyclonus’ presence.

But no, he’d been carefully monitoring the minibot for any trace of heat pheromones, and he was certain that wasn’t the problem. So when Tailgate had sent him a formal message tonight requesting that he meet him in their hab in an hour, Cyclonus had sent back his acceptance before he’d even fully finished reading the missive. There was no point in pretending he wasn’t beyond concerned at this point and he was eager to finally find out what was going on. After all, the last time he’d seen his roommate like this had been when he’d found out he had cybercrosis.

The door opened at his touch and Cyclonus stepped into the dark room. “... Tailgate?” he said, reaching out to turn on the lights.

“Leave them off, please?”

Cyclonus turned toward the voice and saw Tailgate’s biolights shining in the darkness. “Are you ill again?” he asked bluntly. He had tiptoed around his roommate for too long and being summoned to a meeting like this, where Tailgate didn’t even want the lights on so Cyclonus could see him properly, was the last straw. “Is it the cybercrosis? Your heat coding? Something else?”

The outline of lights shifted, and he imagined Tailgate fidgeting uncomfortably as he often did. Usually he found it charming. Tonight he was too worried for that.

“N-no, I’m not sick,” Tailgate said, sounding surprised. “Ratchet said the cybercrosis wouldn’t come ba--”

“Then what is this about?” Cyclonus crossed the room in two long strides and dropped to one knee in front of his roommate and friend. “Please, Tailgate, tell me what’s going on.” He reached out to take Tailgate’s hands, to urge him to confide in him, to trust him with whatever was wrong so he could help.

But instead of taking his hands, the minibot shoved something at him. Cyclonus took it out of reflex, his fingers closing around…  _something._

He examined it carefully by touch in the darkness but could tell little about it. It was a cube, cool and smooth and, as far as he could tell in the darkness, as puzzling as it was unremarkable. Too small to be energon, too large to be one of the sweets Tailgate enjoyed, and apparently lacking any texture or engravings, too plain to be decorative.

Finally he looked back up at Tailgate, seeing his visor glow faintly as he watched Cyclonus explore the thing, his field filled with nervousness. “I don’t understand,” Cyclonus admitted, making sure his tone remained gentle. “What is this?”

Small hands covered his and showed him a very slight indentation on one face of the cube that Cyclonus had missed before. Tailgate pressed, and suddenly--

\--light poured from the cube, flooding the space around them--

_\--and they weren’t in the tiny hab anymore?_

Cyclonus gaped as his optics adjusted to the sudden brightness, staring in shock at the ancient grandeur of Tetrahex, the first sight his optics had beheld when he had onlined for the first time so many millions of years ago. The stately columns around the Grand Temple where he had learned to pray, the wide avenues and narrow hidden alleyways, the way the light reflected from the monuments to the Guiding Hand…

… all gone now, erased by Vector Sigma’s reawakening, and yet somehow still right here.

Tailgate’s hands moved over his again, grounding him back in the present as he touched a new place. Suddenly music poured forth, Primalist hymns he hadn’t heard in millennia, and he recognized the unique harmonics of the Grand Temple flavoring the echoes of the singing voices.

Tailgate’s field grew more tense the longer Cyclonus remained silent, but he couldn’t speak, couldn’t _move._ It was a good thing he was on his knees because he wasn’t sure he could stand. Fidgeting again, Tailgate guided his fingers along the bottom. “If… if this isn’t good, there’s more,” he said hesitantly, showing Cyclonus where to touch the cube, and then light flashed and Tetrahex was gone.

Now they were in Iacon, and the music changed too, flowing smoothly into a song of praise to Primus in the beautiful rhythms of the primal vernacular, just as ancient, just as rare.

And Cyclonus’ processor finally caught up to the fact that he and Tailgate hadn’t actually moved. They remained within their familiar hab suite, but the little cube in their hands projected these holographic images around them and filled the air with music.

He finally looked back at Tailgate and he knew his wonder was naked on his faceplates but he couldn’t hide it. “Tailgate,” he breathed, shifting his fingers to entwine them with the minibot’s, “I… I don’t know what to say.”

Tailgate squeezed his hand. “Does this make up for it?” he asked nervously. When Cyclonus just stared at him, utterly confused, he said, “Ratchet’s heat fight--you had to leave because of me. Does… does this make up for it?”

A memory file rose in his processor and Cyclonus saw the scene anew--Ratchet walking past them, his heat pheromones whipping the mecha around him into a frenzy, the heat-fight only moments from beginning, and Tailgate would have been _destroyed_ if he’d gotten in the way of mecha like Fortress Maximus or Rodimus. The need to protect the minibot was all that anchored Cyclonus and kept him from losing his own mind to the heat coding, and he had snatched Tailgate up and carried him, protesting the entire way, out of the hanger before he could get hurt.

Once more he heard his own voice, a low, fierce growl. _“You are making me miss this and you_ will _make it up to me.”_

He hadn’t thought about it since--wouldn’t have even remembered saying it, had Tailgate not brought it up. Now he looked at the cube in his hand, this tiny masterpiece, and swept Tailgate into a tight hug. The little mech squeaked in surprise but Cyclonus didn’t release him for a long moment.

When he did, he pulled back a little. “This is far more than I deserve,” he murmured, looking down at the mech in his arms, “and I will treasure it always.”

~~~

The little cube was safely in Cyclonus’ subspace as he guided Tailgate to their regular table at Swerve’s and signaled the bartender to bring their usual. It felt good to sit beside him again like this, felt _right,_ and he could admit to himself now how much he’d missed it.

Two cubes hit the tabletop and Cyclonus looked up to nod his thanks to Swerve, only to find himself looking at Whirl’s smug optic instead. “So, marshmallow, did he like it?” he said, bouncing a little on his feet as he looked from one to the other. Had he a mouth, Cyclonus would swear he’d be grinning.

Tailgate’s faceplate heated and he pulled his cube closer as he nodded. “It’s really good, Whirl, thank you for helping me,” he said.

The ex-Wrecker cackled and plonked a curly straw into Tailgate’s drink. “Glad to,” he said, clicking his claws together. “Lemme know when he finds the _special_ function, yeah?” And before Cyclonus could ask what he meant, he was bounding over to the bar to demand another drink.

Cyclonus stared after him for a moment before he looked down at his roommate. Considering the delicate mechanisms that had to power the cube, it made sense that Tailgate would’ve consulted Whirl for help, and he’d already admitted to asking Rewind for assistance with the images and songs, but...

… but it was _Whirl._

Before he could ask Tailgate about it, Brainstorm slid in beside him and propped his chin on his hands. “So he liked it! Did he find the _special_ function yet?” he asked Tailgate, his field practically vibrating with glee.

Tailgate hesitated before shaking his head. “Um… no?”

Brainstorm clapped him on the shoulder and stood up again. “Well, I’m sure we’ll all know when he does,” he said, rubbing his hands together. “Have fun with that, Cy!” And then he was gone, hurrying over to join Whirl at the bar.

Cyclonus watched him go and spoke to his roommate without taking his optics off the pair laughing at the bar. “Tailgate,” he said quietly, trying not to think about how the cube in his subspace suddenly felt a lot more bomb-like, “what is the _special function_?”

Tailgate shook his head slowly. “I… I really have no idea, I didn’t ask Brainstorm to help,” he said, and he sounded as shaken as Cyclonus felt. “But it sounds like we’ll know it when we find it?”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on tumblr as iopele. [Check out my tumblr page here!](http://iopele.tumblr.com/commissions)


End file.
